


Do I Meet with Your Approval?

by Thymesis



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alien Biology, First Time, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Third Person, PWP, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2017, Treat, Xeno, bottom!Thrawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: Eli inadvertently discovers the truth behind his unexpected promotion to Lieutenant Commander.A sincere expression of gratitude seems very much in order.





	Do I Meet with Your Approval?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



> Posted to the exchange on November 10, 2017.

He was drunk. Positively drunk. And the cause wasn’t the alcohol, although he had in fact already imbibed a glass or three of vintage Alderaanian Toniray wine this evening.

No. Eli Vanto was drunk on _success_.

It still didn’t feel entirely real, and he could hardly believe his good fortune. Damn, did it feel wonderful. Absolutely fabulous. At last. At long, long last—! Mere hours earlier, he had been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. _And_ assigned to an Imperial Star Destroyer, no less.

With Thrawn, himself promoted to the rank of Commodore, as his commanding officer.

Thrawn who, at this very moment, was sipping his glass of Toniray like a Core Worlds connoisseur. In truth, Eli knew, he’d never tasted the drink before and was only sharing the bottle Eli had purchased on sheer impulse on their way back to quarters—extravagant expenditure even on a Lieutenant Commander’s salary—out of politeness.

“The charms of this particular carbonated beverage are lost on me, I am afraid,” Thrawn remarked. Huh. “Carbonated.” Leave it to the Chiss to be unaffected by alcohol as a species. “Nevertheless,” he hastened to add, “I am honored that you would share it with me in lieu your peer group.”

Eli actually laughed aloud at that. What “peer group”? The half of the Imperial Navy that didn’t hold in him in contempt for his Wild Space upbringing actively despised him for his association with the alien Thrawn.

And for once in his life, he didn’t care. Nothing and no one was going to spoil his celebratory mood.

“There are none better, Commodore,” he replied simply.

“Hmm.” Thrawn’s crimson gaze roved over Eli’s features. The faintest hint of a smile seemed to touch his lips. What was it that he saw? Eli wondered if Thrawn could read his mind. Sometimes, it certainly seemed that way.

He wasn’t drunk from the wine, no, but something about sharing an expensive bottle with Thrawn—or perhaps it was the newfound confidence of his promotion—made him ask the question, a question which, in any other circumstance, would have sounded insubordinate, belligerent. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” This time, Thrawn really did smile.

“W-why?” That frank, albeit obvious answer made Eli feel off-balance, and there was a fizzing low in his belly that could not possibly have been caused by carbonation _or_ alcohol.

“Because your happiness is my happiness.”

“Wha—?” Eli began, confused by the uncharacteristically sentimental response.

Then, with a jolt, he realized that Thrawn wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead, Thrawn was staring intently at his wine glass like it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the galaxy. While there was indeed something about the bubbly, teal liquid that seemed the perfect aesthetic complement Thrawn’s blue complexion, there could be no mistake: He was trying to avoid meeting Eli’s eyes.

Three years, Eli had languished at the rank of Ensign. He thought about how disappointed, how resentful he’d been about his stalled career, all because he had been taken from his certain future on an Imperial cargo ship and made to become Thrawn’s aide, because Thrawn didn’t care about politics and politicians nursed grudges, because Thrawn was the Emperor’s untouchable favorite but Eli was an easy scapegoat. Because Thrawn…

Because Thrawn.

“You.” This time, it was Eli saying the word. “You.” He repeated and emptied his glass in a single, long gulp. “You cut a deal with Grand Moff Tarkin to get me promoted, didn’t you, sir? _Didn’t you?_ ”

“Your service to the Empire has been nothing but exemplary,” Thrawn murmured…to the Toniray, not to Eli. “No one was more deserving of this promotion, Commander Van—”

Thrawn never finished saying Eli’s surname because Eli was already kissing him.

And Thrawn, after setting his wine carefully aside, was kissing him back. With ardor. Thrawn’s hands were caressing Eli’s face, and his mouth was sweeter, more intoxicating, than the finest Alderaanian vintage. Their tongues twined and dueled as their kisses deepened. Eli groaned, leaning hard into Thrawn—

And the two of them went tumbling to the floor, Thrawn onto his back, face up, and Eli on top, straddling his waist. They never stopped kissing. Eli groaned a second time as he rested the weight of his body against Thrawn’s, grinding, clutching, undulating, clenching, his arousal heightening his desperation. It had been so very long—how many long, lonely years?—since he’d lain with another being, since he’d enjoyed the solace of anything besides his own right hand… And now, now, now, the only clear thought in his mind was that he wanted—no, needed—to get closer, closer, _closer_ —

Thrawn broke their kiss. “Our quarters have perfectly serviceable sleeping berths,” he said, the precise, carefully controlled tone of voice belied by the rapidity of his breathing and the extreme dilation of his pupils. “We need not enjoin this congress in such conditions of discomfort.”

That over-formal choice of vocabulary was, however, just enough to bring Eli back to himself, embarrassment at his loss of control heating his cheeks. But Thrawn said nothing further and, smiling, drew Eli to his feet and began, with infinite care, to remove his uniform for him. Eli felt himself blushing even more fiercely at the gentle yet implacable treatment—he hadn’t been undressed by another being since he was a boy on Lysatra! Thrawn, though, seemed not to notice, and each piece of Eli’s clothing was followed by the corresponding piece of Thrawn’s own.

There was a peculiar aspect of ritual to it: Eli’s belt, Thrawn’s belt. Eli’s jacket, Thrawn’s jacket. Eli’s shirt, Thrawn’s shirt. Eli’s boots, Thrawn’s boots. Eli’s socks, Thrawn’s socks. Eli’s trousers, Thrawn’s trousers. Eli’s undergarments…

Oh.

Eli had never seen Thrawn completely unclothed before. Thrawn was _beautiful_ …and in those first few breathless, pulse-quickening seconds, the sheer perfection of that beauty was all he could see. As a specimen, of course, Thrawn was in peak condition, muscles chiseled from regular exercise and limbs supple, graceful, as befitting a warrior turned Imperial officer.

However, if Eli had ever paused to consider the specifics of Chiss anatomy—and he hadn’t (okay, maybe he had, a little, little bit)—he supposed he’d assumed that they would resemble a Human’s. Only more blue.

Well, the blue part was definitely true.

As for the rest of it…

Eli’s eyes drifted downwards. Nestled in a dense triangular thatch of dark pubic hair was something that definitely did _not_ resemble a Human male’s penis. Instead, it resembled…a flower…like those ones Eli didn’t know the name of climbing the walls of certain Imperial buildings and those better classes of private estates here on Coruscant. Yes, just like those charming, droopy ones with the five finger-like petals that could only be pollinated by a symbiont with a long, thin proboscis…

Except Thrawn’s “flower” was an enchanting sunset mixture of blue shaded with indigo and rose, and it was still a bud whose petals remained tightly closed. Would they open? Eli imagined them engorging and untwisting to reveal what lay within, and then, and then, and then—

“Do I meet with your approval?”

Eli blinked and willed his eyes back upwards. Surely that shouldn’t be a question! His own, uhh, “flower” was erect and pointed straight at Thrawn. But Thrawn wasn’t looking at him or his “flower”; his gaze was lowered. He appeared…shy. No, not shy: vulnerable. Ah, no, that wasn’t it either. How he was standing with his legs together, shoulders sloped, the palms of his hands resting above his navel, fingers slightly curled—it almost looked demure. Yes, that was it. _An attitude of submission._

Submission?!

Oh, of course! All those childhood tales of the Chiss and their rigid codes of honor returned to Eli in a rush. It should have been obvious from the start. He’d kissed Thrawn, thereby initiating the, hmm, what was the bizarre phrasing he had used…? The “enjoining” of their “congress.” Eli had taken the lead because he had kissed Thrawn. It was, therefore, up to him to continue leading. Both his heart and his penis swelled practically to bursting at the realization.

Eli nodded, grinned, took Thrawn’s hand into one of his…

…and together, they fell into bed.

At first, it was much like what they had been doing on the floor, Thrawn beneath Eli, kissing and caressing and savoring the contact of warm, damp skin and against skin. Eli was so aroused already, so desperate, that he was leaking like a faulty vaporator coil against Thrawn’s thigh. The shaft of his penis was grinding rhythmically into that soft blue flesh, and he was close again. He could orgasm from the thrill of that contact alone.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Eli forced himself into retreat from the precipice. He wanted Thrawn to share his pleasure, and he didn’t quite know what to do. Although Thrawn seemed to reciprocate all of his advances enthusiastically, he was only mirroring Eli’s actions. Thrawn was nothing if not a master mimic, and he was watching Eli intently. The intensity of that red stare was somewhat unnerving. And besides, Thrawn’s strange, flower-like sex organ had, if anything, shrunk. Although warm and solid, it was not erect and no larger than Eli’s thumb. That wasn’t exactly encouraging, but Eli wouldn’t allow himself to be deterred.

“Please, show me what you like,” Eli murmured, face buried into the crook of Thrawn’s neck and shoulder, inhaling his spice-smoke scent, nipping at the fluttering pulse he felt there. “Please. I don’t know what to do, and this is for you too.”

“No, this is for _us_ ,” Thrawn whispered into Eli’s ear, the exotic accent of his Basic making the sound sibilant, erotic.

Then Thrawn shifted ever, ever so slightly, and suddenly Eli was engulfed in tight, wet heat. He was in deep, oh stars, so deep! Plunging all the way to the root of him. The weight of his body was crushing his scrotum against Thrawn.

Eli’s hips juddered. His penis bumped against the walls of its unexpected but welcome new confinement. He whimpered.

So did Thrawn.

Eli began to thrust, hard and fast, and Thrawn squeezed his eyes shut as he yielded to Eli’s rhythm. It was mindless aerobic exertion after that. There was only that tightness, that wetness, and the in and out, in and out, in and out pumping that made Eli’s nerve endings sing and the strange little divot inside Thrawn that made him keen whenever the sweet spot on the underside of Eli’s penis caught on it. That thin, high-pitched keen, on the extreme outer edge of Eli’s ability to hear, was utterly addictive. Eli dug his heels in, levered himself upright, and accelerated the pace of his thrusts even further. Soon, he couldn’t hear Thrawn above his own labored breathing and the slap slap slap of their flesh coming enthusiastically together again and again and again.

Something had changed, though, with the change of position. That divot inside Thrawn was becoming a veritable crevasse, and Thrawn’s abundant wetness was soaking into the mattress pallet underneath them, and all of a sudden the blunt tip of Eli’s penis actually punched through the opening of that crevasse, and his sensitive glans was tucked into some heretofore unexplored, rough-textured pocket inside of Thrawn and squeezed so forcefully that it actually _hurt_ —

“You’re big, too big—! Aaaaaahhhhh, _Eli_ —” Thrawn cried out—

And that pocket was _biting_ down on Eli, _raking_ him, and Thrawn was thrashing and writhing and clinging to Eli with all four limbs like a mynock to a starship hull and babbling a string of unintelligible syllables in what must be the language of the Chiss homeworld and pulling Eli back down on top of him, and Eli was _coming_ , every muscle in his body frozen, face a rictus of ecstatic agony, as he poured pulse after pulse after endless pulse of his semen into Thrawn.

Nothing had ever been so intense before in his life. Nothing. He even cried a bit afterwards, and Thrawn embraced him soothingly while he trembled from the aftershocks. They remained joined for a long time after Eli had lost his erection too, adrift in the comfort of their shared intimacy.

Minutes or hours later, once Eli had reacquired some semblance of sanity, he discovered that he had additional questions that he wasn’t ashamed to ask.

For example, what was that strange extra pocket within Thrawn that had brought them both to near-simultaneous orgasm?

“The marth’us,” Thrawn explained. “It’s…poripirla…?” He paused, brow furrowed.

Sy Bisti. Thrawn rarely needed to ask for translations anymore.

“Homologous,” Eli supplied.

“Yes, thank you,” Thrawn continued, “homologous to a female’s uterus.”

“Chiss males don’t bear offspring, do they?” The prospect of _that_ was threatening to alter Eli’s assumptions about Chiss xenobiology! Oh no, was it possible for them to hybridize with Humans…?! What had he done…?!?!

“Not at all,” Thrawn reassured him. “You have these”—a delicate finger traced a tingly circle around Eli’s left nipple—“but you don’t lactate. The marth’us allows beloved comrades to share pleasure.”

So, apparently it was considered normal for Chiss males to penetrate each other. That was an enticing revelation. And…“beloved comrades”…? More bizarre, over-formal phrasing. Still, Eli liked the idea of that. Most definitely. He liked it a lot.

“And what is this?” Eli asked, taking Thrawn’s flower-like sex organ boldly into hand and stroking it with newfound confidence.

“The fara—oh!” Thrawn’s explanation cut off abruptly as his flower—no, his _fara_ —grew and began to blossom. To Eli’s delighted amazement, the five petals swelled, twitched, and opened, revealing a bright red, waving inner shaft questing blindly for a marth’us—or some other suitable place—in which to bury itself. It had a delicately tapered tip that was already oozing opalescent fluid as thick as evergreen honey. Eli reached out and pinched that tapered tip between his thumb and forefinger.

Thrawn whimpered.

Oh my, Eli was becoming thoroughly addicted to that. And he’d never forget the way Thrawn had said he was too big right before crying out his name in passion and climaxing. What a boost to Eli’s ego. Come to think of it— Promotion in the Imperial Navy _and_ proof of sexual prowess within the same standard day? He had every right to be proud.

Yes, everything was feeling real now, and now Eli was wondering what Thrawn’s now nicely-sized fara would feel like in _him_ …

“You meet with my approval, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he said, hot and husky. “Do I meet with yours?”

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> (1) The Alderaanian Toniray wine is taken from the _Inferno Squad_ novel by Christie Golden. Since it is teal-colored, I thought it would make a good prop in a story about the blue-skinned Thrawn.


End file.
